A Hunger Games Volunteer
by Rhonstaren
Summary: Ever since he was young, he wanted to take part in the Hunger Games. It is what he was born to do. This is his story in the 23rd annual Hunger Games. Reviews and Criticism are welcome.


I awoke with a start and judging by the lack of light outside my window, it must be somewhere in the darkest parts of the night. This time of day was always my favourite, like a warm blanket wrapped around me. I got out of bed and walked over to the door. It is a polished wood, very expensive, and well made. I open it slowly, its hinges not making a sound. I pad down the hall, but do not meet anyone. It is completely dark in the main compartment; I feel my way to the sofa, sitting down with a soft thump.

Not long ago I was at home with my family, my mother and father laughing and happy, my brother always more serious. No one said anything, but they all knew what I was planning. At first they were very against it, but that has long since passed, instead now they support me, and I am still not sure why. Do they really believe in me? Are the resigned to my stubborn bull-headedness? Or maybe they were never particularly fond of me and it was merely an act. Whichever way you spin it, I am here now, flying past the scenery at a blistering rate, to my stage, my competition, my Hunger Games.

I was 10 when I told my dad that I wanted to take part in the Hunger Games, and at first he was appalled. We were outside my house, on a warm summers day, the light filtering through the leaves of an old tree. At first he thought he misheard me, but when he knew what I was saying he quickly scolded me. People don't want to be in the Hunger Games he told me, saying that I did not understand fully what they meant, or I would not propose such a thing. I can still see the look on his face when I told him, and the warmth that blossomed on my cheek when his hand caught me.

It was only a month before I brought it up again, this time to both my parents, and it was immediately obvious that my dad had told me mother. They told me stories of families they knew that lost children and how distraught the parents were. They asked me if I didn't love them, if they had done something wrong. To this day I am not sure exactly how I worded it, but it must have had a lasting impression, because not two days later, when my brother was out working, they sat me down and said that if I truly wanted to take part I would need to train and they had the choice of how old I would be when I finally volunteered. Of course I accepted.

For the first two years, before I was old enough, I trained only on endurance and basics of combat. A wooden sword here, a staff there, even some kitchen knives when my parents were out of the house. My dad trained me hard, building exercise schedules and target for me from anything he could scrounge. No matter the weather I would be out there training, early in the morning and late at night. My parents forbid me from training during the day or mentioning it to anyone. It was our family secret, they would say.

By twelve my name was entered once and the training kicked in for real. They urged me to go to school still, telling me I needed to develop my social skills just as much as my body, so I threw myself in with every group of kids I could find. Quickly learning how to handle myself in conversation and how to manipulate others to what I wanted and needed done. Soon I was talking and charming kids two or three years older than me. I was finally getting good.

Years flew by, and every year on the morning of the reaping I asked my parents the same question. "Is today the day that I can compete?" And every year the answer was no, or not this year, or maybe next year. Two days ago when I asked them, they simply said, "No." But I was ready, and had trained enough, so when the boys name was about to be drawn I took a step forward and firmly stated, "I volunteer."

Before I know it, it is morning and my competitor and a few others are sitting at the table, eating breakfast. Our mentor is a short, pixie faced girl. She is only 22, having won 5 years ago, but she knows quite the thing or two. She won by outsmarting the other players, remaining off the radar until late in the game, when she struck a group of 3 careers with traps and deadly agility. Her name is Tracy.

I seat myself at the table, pulling a plate and some bacon towards me. My opposition is an 18-year-old, dark haired, tall, and slightly thick, I think her name was something like Riley, but I was too caught up that I am not sure. She is pushing her food around, not looking very hungry. I eat more than my share, making sure I stuff myself with as much food as I can, leading up to the games. Our handler comes in; he is a flamboyant and excited man, probably touching 6 and half feet, skinny as a twig. He is wearing a baby blue suit with a powder pink tie and two tone, black and white shoes. He flutters around us, telling us more than we care too know, but I listen intently, soaking up any information I can get.

The train ride flies by, and before I know it we are pulling into the Capital. I am wearing a white button down and black pants, making sure I look neat and tidy. I smile and wave and make sure every gets a look at me. We are shuttled through the people and brought into a large building, where we will be manicured and prepared for our debut to the world. My team bubbles away as they clean me up and I make small talk, which sets them all a-twitter giggling and falling over themselves as they try and each talk at once. They all say that they are very happy that District 8 finally has a second chance to win, so shortly after Mentor.

Not much time elapses before I am done and standing nude, waiting for my stylist. She is beautiful; her waist length blonde hair is the only think the Capital doesn't seem to affect. She is wearing a ludicrous orange dress, with soft rounded shoulders and a low cut front that reaches her naval. She walks around me, close enough that I can smell a faint hint of strawberries. She stops in front of me, the smell intensifying briefly as her hair flicks from the abrupt stop.

"Your outfit has been decided, it should fit well, judging by your size and shape. It is quite the shape, I must say. Someone has been training," She winks at me as the last sentence leaves her lips. I simply smile and quip back, "I would love to show you some more of my _shape, _but I am afraid, as you can see, I can't." She smiles slyly at me and slowly passes me a robe, pausing a moment before letting it go, her eyes no longer looking into mine.

I walk into a holding area where everyone is already on their chariots, and my handler and mentor are going berserk, I may be slightly late. I shrug and tell them I was hold up, as Lacy comes up behind me, looking a little tousled. I am dressed in a soft, warm grey suit with subtle pinstripes. Riley lets out a small but audible gasp, I suspect I look good. Lacy comes over and pulls at the suit slightly, bubbling a bit about the colour matching the charcoal of my eyes. It matters little; it is all about the personality.

We pull into the long stadium where thousands of Capital residents stand awaiting and cheering on their contestants. Large screens flick from district to district. This year all the districts look decent, no one is dressed in too ridiculous a costume, meaning it will be easier to stand out later. The procession passes quickly and within moments I am in my room. 8 floors above the Capital, I lie in a state of peace and happiness. I am excited for what the day brings tomorrow as I have been waiting for this day, and the next coming weeks, since before I could remember.


End file.
